Dead Shot by Jack Patterson (adventure books to read .TXT) 📕

But as the day’s events unfolded, Gold grew leery of a foreigner mucking about in a family matter. Gold’s son had died—and he was struggling to suppress the grief he felt. He had to. There was more at stake than the personal embarrassment of his son overdosing on drugs and the paper etching it into town lore on microfilm. Statenville was at stake.

Cal had no idea what he was doing, but it made no difference to Gold. As the mayor of Statenville, Gold prided himself on his moral and ethical conduct. But it was easy to justify a temporary restraining order on such morals and ethics when your way of life is being threatened. Gold knew it would be a tough decision to make, but it was for the good of the whole. At least that’s what he told himself.

He took a long pull on his glass of scotch. He pondered his next move.

His phone rang and a voice on the other end gave him the news: “Cal’s gone.”

“What? Where is he? What about the girl?”

“His car veered off the road and wrecked near the river, but he was nowhere to be found. The girl’s still waiting for him at The Mill, but she’s lost without him. She still thinks that one day she might run The Register. She’ll not want to jeopardize that pipe dream, so don’t worry about her.”

“Well, find him. And when you do, make sure he doesn’t go anywhere. Who knows where is he, now that we can’t track him.”

Gold hung up his phone. Grieving in peace would have to wait.

Chapter 20

Kelly finished trouncing her third darts opponent at The Mill. Beating drunk farm boys who thought they had a chance with her amused Kelly. She even dated a few of the regulars in high school, back when she thought being a farmer’s wife was her destiny. She wasn’t completely opposed to the idea, but working for the student paper at Arizona State gave her a taste of real journalism—one that couldn’t be quenched by whipping up lunchtime feasts, changing little ones’ diapers, and serving on the Statenville PTA. Of course, working for The Register wouldn’t guarantee her more than a skimpy serving of real journalism either, but she thought it could be palatable, especially if she were in charge.

Kelly picked up her phone to call Cal. Where is he? Surely he would have called me if something came up.

Kelly accessed his number on the screen—and hesitated. She had already called him three times and left messages. But a fourth? That might be pushing it. He was only about an hour late. No need to seem desperate, especially for a guy she wasn’t completely sure she liked romantically. Although the exciting day’s events had changed that. Adventure proved to be a powerful elixir for her cold feet.

A basket of fries, two more dart annihilations and 45 minutes later, Kelly decided Cal wasn’t coming.

A thought crept into her mind. It was not worth mulling over, but Kelly couldn’t make it go away.

What if someone doesn’t want Cal to write that story? What if someone did something to him?

Her efforts to dismiss such depressing thoughts only served to stir her angst. She grabbed her purse and coat. She needed to put these hair-brained ideas to rest.

She left the bar without a word or a glance over her shoulder. This wasn’t about a sudden crush on Cal. This was about her co-worker who was being threatened for doing his job.

Paranoia settled over her like a thick fog. She began scanning the parking lot for any suspicious activity or likely suspects in dark cars awaiting a certain patron. She spotted one man who looked out of place in Statenville. A new black Chevy Blazer in Statenville? He might as well have painted the car fire engine red. This was Ford country, save a few granola types who preferred Subarus. But she quickly dismissed him as her guy. He was looking down at his phone and talking to someone as he waved his free hand around. In the 10 seconds she watched him as she walked to her car, he never once looked up.

Nevertheless, Kelly quickened her pace. She fumbled for her keys as she walked, hoping to avert a prolonged mining expedition in her purse. The less vulnerable she was before gaining entrance to her car, the better.

Success.

She unlocked the door with the click of a button on her fob and slid behind the wheel. She locked the doors and turned the ignition. Before turning on her headlights, Kelly scanned one final time around the parking lot and concluded she was safe. She pulled onto the road and headed for Cal’s house, using the same route he would have taken to get there.

Kelly eased down the road, searching the roadside for any sign of Cal or his Civic.

Why didn’t he call me?

One jalopy and a flat tire sidelined two vehicles along the route Kelly took. No sign of Cal.

She drove another five minutes before entering a winding stretch of road near Cal’s apartment.

That’s where she saw the flashing lights. Red and blue squad car lights flickered in the cool August air. A squad car was on the shoulder of the road ahead. It flanked an A-1 Towing Service truck, which made its presence known with a pair of flashing yellow lights.

Kelly didn’t want to presume she knew Cal was the reason for the roadside gathering, but she couldn’t stop her mind from racing through all the doomsday scenarios. Maybe Cal crashed. Maybe someone killed him. Maybe there’s nothing to see.

She sped up and pulled behind the sheriff’s deputy car. It belonged to Dawkins. She closed her eyes and moaned. Not Dawkins! Not now!

Dawkins was talking with the tow truck driver when her headlights signaled her arrival. He turned toward her and shielded his eyes from her car lights. The deputy approched Kelly’s car as she moved to meet him half way.

“What’s going on here?” she